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AIRS AND BALLADS 



EDITED BY JOHN McCLURE 
THE STAGS' HORNBOOK 



AIRS AND BALLADS 

By JOHN McCLURE 




New York ALFRED A. KNOPF Mcmxviii 



COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF 






/ 

/ 

PRINTED IN THE T7NITBD STATES D» AMERICA 

MAR 2 1318 ^ 



©CI.A4i)4(iaO 



To. 



I am indebted to the editors of Smart Set for 
permission to include in this volume the follow- 
ing verses: "Elf's Song," "Chanson Naive," 
" Home," " Songs of His Lady," " The Neck- 
lace," "Carol," "Song," "Homage," "To a 
Lady," " I Could Forgive," " Song: Old Style," 
" Man to Man," " The Celts," " The Needy Poet 
Invoketh the Gods," " After Reading in a Book 
of Love Songs," "The Merry Men," "Ego," 
" The Everlasting Yea," " All They That Pass 
By," " The Lass of Galilee," and " Finis " : to the 
editor of Poetry for permission to include " To 
His Lady, Philosophy " ; and to the editor of 
Others for permission to include " Visitants," 
" Wanderer," and " Somnambulist." A few of 
these verses have appeared in the University of 
Oklahoma Magazine, 

I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Mr. 
H. L. Mencken of the Smart Set, which I take 
pleasure in acknowledging. He has been a very 
good friend to me indeed, as has his colleague, 
Mr. George Jean Nathan. 

John McClure 



CONTENTS 

Apology 13 

Elf's Song 14 

Home 15 

Songs of His Lady 16 

The Necklace 18 

Carol 19 

Song 20 

Homage 21 

To A Lady 22 

I Could Forgive 23 

Gifts 24 

Song: Old Style 25 

Song 26 

His Lady in Absence 27 

Deirdre 28 

When You Are Old 29 

Chanson Naive 30 

I Am Aweary 31 

The Lover Turns in His Grave 32 

As I Lay Dreaming Abed 33 

Man to Man 34 

Weary 35 

The Dream 36 

May-Day 37 

To A Lady 38 

If I Were the Almighty God 39 

Even Unto the Fairies 40 

April's Fool 41 

The Celts 42 



Summer Day 43 

Heinrich Heine 44 

Columbine 45 

Spendthrift 46 

The Mad Lady 47 

The Needy Poet Invoketh the Gods 48 

Poetry 49 

Wanderer 50 

Visitants 51 

Somnambulist 52 

The Young Men Speak 53 

After Reading in a Book of Love-Songs 54 

The Merry Men 55 

The Dreamer 56 

In the Harvest 57 

Carol o' Bethlehem 59 

Carol Naive 60 

The Calvary at Boulogne 61 

Ego 62 

The Grey Leaf 63 

The Boon Companion 64 

The Wake 65 

The Madmen 66 

In THE End 67 

The Everlasting Yea 68 

All They that Pass By 69 

To His Lady, Philosophy 70 

Lady of April 72 

The Lass of Galilee 78 

Envoy 83 

Finis . 84 



AIRS AND BALLADS 



APOLOGY 

I am a poetaster 

And my knee I bend 

To Marlowe, my master, 
Villon, my friend. 

I am a swashbuckler, 
And I break my sword 

Before Blake, my tutor, 
Shakespeare, my lord. 

I should burn my song-books 

This very day 
If singing didn't matter 

So little anyway. 



[13] 



ELF'S SONG 

She came in the garden walking 
When shadows begin to steal; 

She trod upon a wing o' mine 
And broke it with her heel. 

She was a very queen, I think, 
A queen from the West, 

I should have only smiled 

Had she stepped on my breast. 

But I have told nobody, 
I have told nobody yet ! 

I have told nobody 

Only the violet. 



[14] 



HOME 

Your love is all so quiet 
And solemn as the sea : 

Like an old song at evening 
It comforts me. 

For all the merry mad loves 
That wither and devour 

Are paltry by the firelight 
In the quiet hour. 

Yea, all the merry mad loves 
That I might have had 

When they rise up like cymbals 
Making me sad, 

Your love is all so quiet 

It comforts me then, 
Like an old song at evening 

Or books of dead men. 



[15] 



SONGS OF HIS LADY 

I 

Oh, I shall pluck the little stars 
And set them in her golden hair, 

And I shall pluck for her delight 
All things golden anywhere, 

The little flowers of the earth, 
The little corals of the sea, 

The little dreams within my heart, — 
My love shall have them all o' me ! 

II 

And I shall weave into a net 

The dreaming Pleiad sisters seven 

With all the jewels of all the crowns 
Of all the saints of heaven, — 

A net of stars for her to wear 

To make her dainty and fair to see. 

So all the princes of all the world 
Shall whisper and envy me. 

Ill 
But she shall dress more strangely still 

In all men's eyes she shall be seen 
To wear my little silver dreams 

Like tinkling trinkets of a queen. 

[i6] 



Ay, queenlike, she shall move them all 

To adoration and desire; 
For she shall wear my golden dreams 

As though they were a robe of fire. 



[17] 



THE NECKLACE 

The songs I made in a hundred towns, 
The songs I made on a hundred ways, 

I shall give them all to my love-lady 
To brighten her nights and days. 

I shall hang them all on her neck, I swear. 
Like crimson rubies and diamonds white, 

A string of jewels for her to wear 
To make her beauty bright! 



[i8] 



CAROL 

The month can never forget the year; 

The moth can never forget the fire; 
And I can never forget my dear 

Lady of High Desire. 

The earth can never forget the sun; 

The day can never forget the night; 
And I can never forget the one 

Lady of My Delight. 



[19] 



SONG 

I watched the sun sink into the sea : 
Red as a rose-petal was he. 
I watched him come in the morning up, 
And he was then like a buttercup. 
And twixt the setting and rise of sun 
I dreamed all night of my lovely one. 



[20] 



HOMAGE 

They follow their steadfast beacons, 

All wanderers save me, 
And turn their prayers to Our Lady, 

Mary, Star of the Sea. 

I follow in all my journeys 

The will-o'-the-wisp that gleams 

Deep in your dark eyes, lady — 
Mother of all my dreams! 

They bring red gold to the altar, 
They build great temples of stone, 

They render to Caesar Caesar's 
And unto God His own. 

I, too, give to God and to Caesar 
What thing to them each belongs. 

But yours is my singing heart, lady — 
Mother of all my songs! 



[21] 



TO A LADY 

I will give to you diamonds and rubies 
And pearls in a golden crown : 

For a smile of your grey eyes, lady, 
I will tumble a mountain down. 

I will give to you garlands and roses. 
And fruit of the blossoming year, 

Ay, song-books and poems and posies, — 
All these will I give you, dear. 

I will give you my whole life's treasure, 
My flowers of dream and of art — 

All things will I give to vou, lady. 
Saving my heart. 



[22] 



I COULD FORGIVE 

Love is so very hard to bear, 

Mad Love on his own pleasure bent, 
And yet I think I could forgive 

If he were different. 

I could forgive Love's wantonness, 

Forgive that he is blind, 
I could forgive Love everything 

If only Love were kind. 



[23] 



GIFTS 

I will fetch ye, lady, 
Out of all the earth 

Anything to please ye 
Or to make ye mirth. 

I will fetch ye silver 
Out of heaven gate, 

Fashioned into goblets. 
Beaten into plate. 

I will fetch ye red gold 
Tried and tempered well 

In white fires of limbo 
And blue fires of hell. 



[24] 



SONG: OLD STYLE 

I sang one song upon a time 
To make my lady smile: 

O, I hae sung a hundred songs, 
But only one worth-while 1 

Her smile is like the flush o' dawn, 
Or bursting of a flower: 

Her smile is like the moon-rise 
At the midnight hour. 

I sang a song upon a time 
That drew a smile frae her : 

O, I wouldna barter her smile away 
For white silver. 



[25] 



SONG 

Oh, you hear sweet music 

If my love pass, 
Whisper o' the crow's-foot, 

Murmur o' the grass! 

The wee ones are ready 
To give her due to her 

Who is more dainty dainty 
Than the fairies were, 

Who is so dainty dainty 
That she doth surpass 

Blossom o' the primrose, 
Flower o' the grass I 



[26] 



HIS LADY IN ABSENCE 

In cold nights of winter 
When all is cool and still 

The white star is my true-love 
And the moonlight on the hill. 

But in warm nights of summer 
When evening airs are free 

And twilight is like magic 
The new moon is she. 



[27] 



DEIRDRE 

I see the sadness 

In her eyes grey 
That makes a man pensive 

At dying o' the day, 

And I see the paleness 
In her cheeks wan 

That makes a man wistful 
At grey dawn. 



[28] 



WHEN YOU ARE OLD 

Mayhap when you are old and grey 

You will remember me, 
And nod your white head and say: 

" A quaint lean fellow, he. 

" I remember the tricks of his speech. 
The snatches he used to sing. 

I think he said that he loved me 
Better than anything." 



[29] 



CHANSON NAIVE 

I shall steal upon her 
Where she sits so white, 

Creep-mouse, creep-mouse, 
In the twilight. 

She sits In the shadows, 
Dreamy, dreamy — 

I shall go stealthily 
So she cannot see me. 

I shall steal behind her 

And kiss her on the cheek 

And cover up her wee mouth 
So she cannot speak. 

I would fain surprise her 

If so be I might, 
Creep-mouse, creep-mouse. 

In the twilight ! 



[30] 



I AM AWEARY 

I am aweary of high loves, 
Aweary of high desire, — 

Now I would nod in the evening 
Beside a quiet fire. 

When once a man has taken in 

High love into his breast 
His heart becomes a crazy wind 

That halteth not for rest. 

His soul becomes a thunderstorm. 

His heart a hurricane. 
And he is but a windblown leaf 

That will not rest again. 

Ay, there is thunder on the land 

And lightning on the sea. 
And thunderwrack within their hearts 

For them that lovers be. . . . 

So I am aweary of high loves. 

Aweary of high desire; 
Now I would nod in the evening 

Beside a quiet fire. 



[31] 



THE LOVER TURNS IN HIS GRAVE 

You must not remember 

The dear things I said. 
Please forget me, lady, 

Since I am dead. 

Like a dream at twilight, 

Like a mist of dawn, 
I am dead and gone, lady, 

I am dead and gone. 

You must not remember. 

Please, please forget. 
You can find a lover 

Kindlier yet. 

I cannot hear your mourning. 
Nor know the tears you shed. 

Please forget me, lady, 
Since I am dead. 



[32] 



AS I LAY DREAMING ABED 

As I lay dreaming abed 

Between the night and the day 
It suddenly entered my head 

How all folk are fey. 

It suddenly entered my head 

How he and I and she 
Would suddenly pass away 

And vanish utterly. 



[33] 



MAN TO MAN 

Better it were, my brother, 
You twain had never met, 

Then were no hearts broken 
And no dream to forget. 

Now you must not remember, 

After you are gone. 
The mystic magic of her eyes 

At twiUght nor at dawn. 

Now you must not remember 
The songs her red lips sing 

Of love and lovers' ecstasy 
At dawn or evening. 



[34] 



WEARY 

Days were aforetime 

When I sang as ye 
Quaint words of loving 

And mald-wltchery, 

Quaint words of loving 
And two brown eyes, 

Mock-tears and laughter 
And sometimes sighs. 

But that was In the old days 

Ere I came to see 
The shadow In the eyes 

Of a weird lady. 

I have tried to sing again 

Since I saw her 
Quaint words of loving 

And heart-murmur. 

I have tried to sing again, 

But it cannot be. 
I am sharply torn and broken 

And sore weary. 



[35] 



THE DREAM 

In a strange grove of poplars 

In a strange far place 
She came to me between the trees 

With white death on her face. 

She came between the poplar trees 
And wandered at my side : 

It was beyond the mind of man 
To think that she had died. 

It was beyond the mind of man 
Even to dream her dead. 

I knew the music of her voice 
In every word she said. 



[36] 



MAY-DAY 

A ripple of wild wind-laughter 
Shakes the leaves of the tree, 

And I hear the children under It 
Carolling merrily. 

" And win ye no' kiss her, Robbie? 

And will ye no' kiss FIfine ? 
Then are ye a jack-ass, Robbie, 

For she's May Queen! " 



" And will ye no' kiss her, Robbie? 

And will ye no' kiss her, say? 
Then are ye a jack-ass, Robbie, 

For she's the Queen o' the May! " 

Dear God ! My little children. 

Gin ye but only knew 
Ye wouldna carol so merrily 

To all ye do. 

Gin ye but only knew, 

Little lass, little lad — 
The little little children 

Make my heart sad. 



[37] 



TO A LADY 

Your face is like a child's, lady, 
Whenever you smile just so. 

It minds me of the little cherubs 
Of Rafaell' Sanzio. 

It minds me of the little angels 
That frolic and chirp and sing 

In the golden gardens of heaven 
At God's bidding. 



[38] 



IF I WERE THE ALMIGHTY GOD 

If I were the Almighty God 

Sitting in heaven high, 
I would barter my starry hood 

For a twinkle of her eye. 

I would barter my silver staff, 
My girdle of golden thread, 

All for the mischief of her laugh 
Mocking my hoary head. 

I would give her eternal space, 
Dappled with stars for flowers. 

Where she might wander before my face 
And squander her laughing hours. 



[39] 



EVEN UNTO THE FAIRIES 

Snuck sings: 

Violet, loving the shade, 

Primrose, loving the sun, 
Each is a beautiful maid — 

Which is the lovely one ? 

Snack sings: 

I am the love of the violet. 

Though by the side of her 
You set a diamond, a sapphire — yet 

She were the lovelier. 

Snick sings: 

I am the love of the primrose. 

Whatever the blind dogs sing 
There is a beauty in my primrose 
Beyond all reckoning. 

Whereupon a little old withered fairy, who has 
lived during the life of many violets, during the 
duration of many primroses, sings: 
You that love so the violet, 

You that are fond with the rose, 
Know you that all love goes ? 
Even the love of the violet. 
Even the love of the rose? 



[40] 



APRIL'S FOOL 

I loved a lady once — 
Tweedle-dum, tweedle-di ! 

Ah, what a merry dunce 
In the mad world was I. 

Love was a fairyland. 

Life was to me 
All playing of fiddles 

And minstrelsy. 

All the mad world was fair, 
All the trees green, 

I was a jester there 
To a gay queen. 

I was a knight-at-arms, 

I was a king, 
I would brave death for her, 

Caper or sing. 

Tweedle-dum, tweedle-di ! 
What a mad fool was I ! 



[41] 



THE CELTS 

We are the grey dreamers 

With nets of moonlight 
That always go a-hunting 

About the fall o' night, 

That softly go a-hunting 

In quest of strange birds 
With a thin net of moonlight, 

A grey net of words, 

That steal through dim forests 

By dark Lethe-streams 
With pale snare of moonshine 

And grey bait of dreams, 

Until we catch the prize-catch, 

The queer bird we get, 
The dreamy, fluttering Soul o' the World 

Caught in a silver net. 



[42] 



SUMMER DAY 

I walked upon a little hill 

Where the wind came running by 
With quick march-music in my feet 

And a dream before my eye. 

I walked among the slender flowers 
That nodded from the grass, 

I heard them laugh like city-folk 
To see a poet pass. 

And I laughed to the laughing flowers 
And the white clouds in the sky, 

And I dreamed a dream and forgot it 
While the wind went running by. 



[43] 



HEINRICH HEINE 

Helnrlch Heine, Heinrlch Heine, 
All the trinkets I have wrought 

I will bring ye, Heinrich Heine, 
Ye beloved good-f or-naught ! 

I will bring ye rhymes like apples. 
Rhymes like tarts and cherry-pies. 

Dainty rhymes like cherry-blossoms, 
Gaudy rhymes like peacocks' eyes, 

Rhymes that echo like a prayer, 
Rhymes that tinkle like a bell, 

Heinrich Heine, Heinrich Heine, 
Ye beloved ne'er-do-well! 



[44] 



COLUMBINE 

A year agone the rose was gay, 

The thorn-tree garmented in green, 

The sunshine on the garden lay 
And Columbine was queen. 

A year agone the birds were here. 
Small sparrows piping high and low. 

And Pierrot's heart was full of cheer 
As it is heavy now. 

For now the trees stand barren all. 
The petals of the rose are shed, 

The moonlight floods the garden wall 
And Columbine is dead. 



[45] 



SPENDTHRIFT 

I cannot carry my money, 
'Tis gone before I know: 

I lose coins out of my pocket 
Or squander them as I go. 

I cannot carry my dreams 
Nor barter them for bread: 

I squander them like pennies 
Or lose them out of my head. 



[46] 



THE MAD LADY 

Flowers are springing. 

Wherever we look 
Spring comes like a lady 

Out of a book. 

With sudden laughter 
Mad Spring is loose — 

Just like the lady 
In Mother Goose, 

Gaudy and gay 

Through the world she goes 
With rings on her fingers 

And bells on her toes. 



[47] 



THE NEEDY POET INVOKETH THE 

GODS 

May all the hidden deities 

Of fair luck befriend 
My toe that peepeth coyly 

From my shoe's end! 

My toe that peepeth coyly 

Like a wee maid 
Void of worldly wickedness 

And somewhat afraid, 

My toe that peepeth coyly 

Fearing sore to get 
Scratched upon a cobblestone 

Or damnably wet. 

May all the hidden deities 

Of fair luck befriend 
My toe that peepeth coyly 

From my shoe's end ! 



[48] 



POETRY 

Poetry? . . . 

The voice that leaps up 

With the spring-water 

And thunders 

Out of the mountain. 



[49] 



WANDERER 

Why do ye find me in these waters? 
Well, the old wander-dog in me whined. 
So we came, baying at the moon, 
Wistfully over the world. 



[50] 



VISITANTS 

In the pale hours 

Often they come to me stealthily, 

Tremulous, 

Ghostly with twilight, 

Vain as air, — 

The wraiths of the gone folk, 

Whispering, 

Bidding me be of good cheer. 

Good hope. 



[SI] 



SOMNAMBULIST 

Last night I went a-walking with my dreams, 

Folk such as ye have never seen the like of, 

With faces like moonlight on water, 

Wistful folk. 

One of them had eyes 

The colour of will-o'-the-wisp, 

And another had hair 

The colour of wind. 

We walked in silence 

In a grey wood 

Until dawn. 



[52] 



THE YOUNG MEN SPEAK 

Shall they be too stern with us 

That we were dazzled by the grey eyes of women? 

All the world hath been so — 
Centuries ere we came. 
It Is not our fault. 
All the world hath been so 
Since time was. 

Shall they be too stern with us 

That we were tangled beyond all hope 

In the long hair of women? 



[53] 



AFTER READING IN A BOOK OF LOVE- 
SONGS 

I wish that some black god of aforetime would 
arise out of the earth and damn them 

For their singing of women's beauty and quick 
passion and love's delight. 

I wish that some black god of aforetime would 
arise and make wind of these things 

And scatter them like quick breaths off the page. 

I wish that this would happen with the sudden- 
ness of death and disaster 

Because of the wild beauty of their songs. 



[54] 



THE MERRY MEN 

I love the farce men — 

Bien heureux est qui rien n^y a! 

They that go skipping 

With light laughter 

Bound to no woman, 

They that are as goats 

In the world 

Knowing not sadness. 

I love the farce men — 

Bien heureux est qui rien n^y a! 



[55] 



THE DREAMER 

My ears are battered night and day 
By a merry horde that sings 

In ballad and in roundelay 
Of kindly earthly things. 

And sure, I shall love forever 
A gentle or thundering song, 

But I — I can never sing rarely 
Because I have dreamed too long. 

Good sooth, I have lost it wholly, 
The frolicsome human touch ! 

Nay, I — I can never sing good songs 
Because I have dreamed too much. 



[56] 



IN THE HARVEST 

The sun shines hot from a clear sky. 

I laugh and lay my pitchfork by. 

Why work for food and drink and bed 

When one has dreams within one's head? 

In this world it is best to sit 

In silence and consider it. 

Ay, while the slipshod minutes flee, 

This is the sweetest work for me. 

To lie a-dreaming dreamily 

And watch great God Almighty's fleet 

Drive slowly over the fields of wheat — 

With a salt sea-song in my throat 

Lie belly-upward, taking note 

How solemnly go by 

Those galleys of the sky. 

The little ants among the grass 
Upon their daily routine pass. 
The farmer lads make the wheat fly. 
Say, do I envy them? Not I. 
The horses that the reaper pull 
Know not the world is beautiful. 

I watch the great white clouds go by 
Like ships across the open sky 
Until a magic memory 
Of sounding surge comes back to me, 

[57] 



And here, forgetful of it all — 
The busy men, the farmer's call 
I lie a-dreaming dreamily 
About the sea-gulls and the sea. 



[58] 



CAROL O' BETHLEHEM 

Mary stood at the manger-side 
With her elbows on the rim; 

He smiled the whimsical sweet smile 
That shamed the cherubim, 

Then straightway tossed His little legs, — 
The hay-pricks tickled Him. 

Mary laughed and bent down low — 
Mary, blessed of God's grace ! — 

He curled His little pink toes up 
And gurgled in her face: 

Then pulled her hair right sturdily 
In that calm holy place. 

Ay, Jesus was a baby too. 

And plucked His Mother's hair. — 
She loved Him much more thus, I ween, 

Than as King anywhere. 



[59] 



CAROL NAIVE 

Was never none other 
Like our God's Mother. 

I sing the Lady of all most fair, 
Of all most dainty and debonair, 
She to whose feet the angels come, — 
Lady Mary of God's Kingdom ! 

I sing the Lady of all most good. 
Immaculate Lady of Motherhood, 
She that holdeth our hearts in fee, — 
Lady Mary of God's City! 

I sing the Lady of all most dear. 

She that cherished us yesteryear, 

She that will cherish when this world dies,- 

Lady Mary of Paradise ! 

Yet was never none so fair. 
Yet was never none so good. 
On the green earth anywhere 
As Our Lady of Motherhood. — 

Yet never none other 
Like our God's Mother. 



[60] 



THE CALVARY AT BOULOGNE 

At Boulogne-by-the-Sea 
Christ Jesus startled me. 

I saw upon a hill 

His cross against the sky- 
Peering toward the sea 

Where the swift ships went by. 

He peered toward the sea 

With his sad face 
Waiting for his folk to come 

From a far place, 

Waiting for his folk to come 
Which they never will — 

Peering toward the grey sea 
From a high hill. 



[6i] 



EGO 

My members wither like weeds. — 

Yea, as all matter must, 
My blood and my hair and my tender eyes, 

And my heart, are coming to dust. 

And the trees and the hills and the flowers, 
And the planets that sail the skies, 

The worlds, with the years and the hours. 
Wither to wind likewise. 

These make my visible garment. 

And go fast fleeting away. 
But I am not startled or daunted. 

Who know I am greater than they. 



[62] 



THE GREY LEAF 

Lo, the sea-tides eternally seek 

What they shall not find : 
And the worlds — though they struggle to speak, 

They are tongueless and blind — 

But I — I am not of their kind I 

Night — wind and the night — 

What though the stars are at play 

And rustles the wind in delight 

As it waits for the coming of day ! — 
Lo, I am more happy than they. 

For the stars they must twinkle on 

And always the wind must blow: 
Ever when I am gone 

They shall twinkle and bluster so. — 

But I — I have come and I go. 



[63] 



THE BOON COMPANION 

Were the earth but lighter upon him 
My sorrow were lighter too ; 

Then might I strew on him willow 
And flowers of purple and blue, 

Ay, twine on his grave green willow 
And flowers, and let him be, — 

The noblest, brave good-fellow 
Ever walked on the road with me. 



[64] 



THE WAKE 

In the little house across the street 

A man is lying dead, 
Two watchers sitting at his feet, 

A watcher at his head. 

He lies quite quietly, I ween, 
In his grave-clothes cut so trim. 

For he to the world is nothing at all, 
And the world is nothing to him. 

But though his breath have taken flight, 

His merry soul be gone. 
Of all the dead in the world tonight. 

He is hardly the only one. 

I lie here also in my bed. 

Who would as well have died. 

With two dreams watching at my head 
And one dream at my side. 



[65] 



THE MADMEN 

And still the madmen scream 
That the world is but a dream. 

They know far more than we 
Who take it seriously. 

An we would hark to such, 
I swear we could learn much. 

Ay, one day zee shall scream 
That it is but a dream. 



[66] 



IN THE END 

Now God has forgot 
The dream that He had : 
The world Is not, 
It is gone like mad. 

And He lies asleep 
While the grey winds leap, 
The grey winds race 
Through space. 



[67] 



THE EVERLASTING YEA 

Always the world is beautiful. 

Spring comes and with it the rose. 
'' But what of the roses that bloomed and fell? 

Singer of songs, what of those?" 

Always the dream is beautiful. 

Spring ! and the lovers are come ! 
" But what of the lovers that loved and died? 

Ahf singer of songs, thou art dumb! '' 

Dumb am I ? Dumb am I ? Fool that thou art ! 

Spring comes with the whirl of the year, 
And the old old roses, the old old dream, 

And the old old lovers are here. 



[68] 



ALL THEY THAT PASS BY 

I heard the Salvation Army 
Beating their praying-drum 

On the crowded street of the city 
Where the mad folk go and come, 

Blowing their praying-trumpet, 
Calling our ears to their crier 

Telling about the judgment of God 
To set the world on fire. 

Blowing their praying-trumpet, 
Beating their praying-drum, 

Kneeling to God in terror, 
Calling to sinners '* Come ! " 

And oh, they were terribly earnest. 

Bowed In a solemn row 
At the side of the city side-walk 

Where the world-mad come and go. 

But they gazed with wistful faces 

On many a laughing eye. 
It seemed there was no use praying 

Where the painted ladies went by. 



[69] 



TO HIS LADY, PHILOSOPHY 

I 

The beautiful ladies of old time 
That walked like angels and were as fair 
Are dead and vanished and no man's rhyme 
Can paint them truly as once they were. 
Like pale shadows in moonlight 
Vanished they are upon strange ways 
Sudden as snow — Villon was right — 
The beautiful ladies of old days. 
But you stay always, you most dear, 
Though the harlots come and the harlots go, 
V^alking in pomp and in great show. 
Still you are with me, still are here, 
More faithful far in a thousand ways 
Than the beautiful ladies of old days. 

II 

One thing I know most certainly. 
You will not pester me nor chide: 
You will not quarrel much nor be 
Unkind or hasty to deride 
When I am stupid with my dreams. 
You will not cackle much nor joke 
When I am dazzled by the gleams 
Of fen-fires In a world of smoke 
Or somewhat silly and Insane 
About the making of a song, 

[70] 



Nor mock me that my face is plain, 
Nor chide me that I am not strong. 
Nay, kinder than a woman is. 
You will not mock my vagaries. 

Ill 

When all my heart is laden down 
With worldly worries, worldly fears. 
You will not pucker lip nor frown 
Nor make me gloomier with tears. 
You will not make my sorrow sad 
With weeping and with wretchedness 
When all the goods I ever had 
Have vanished in the market's press. 
You will not sob nor make a scene 
When I come sadly home at night 
To tell you that my hopes have been 
Blown and blasted out of sight. 
We two will light our pipe o' clay 
And laugh and blow the world away. 



[71] 



LADY OF APRIL 

I 

Songs were delight of life five years agone. 
My dreams, a-flutter on the wings of rhyme, 
Circled to heaven, battling with the dawn, 
Giddy as sky-larks in the olden time. 
Now songs come slowly, and no more sublime 
O'er-topping dreams blot out the moon and sun 
As in old days when creeping prose was crime 
And verse a duty. Now my dreams are done. 
And yet I think I might go singing yet, — 
Ay, might make merry with a random rhyme 
And weave quaint phrases to a minuet. 
Coining sweet music out of fleeting time, 
If you would listen to me and be glad 
And take with laughter what few songs I had. 



II 

I had rebuked myself most reverendly 

And said: "Tut! Let love vanish!" I had 

said: 
" Love is a madness, an insanity. 
Forget it wholly." Now, discomfited, 
I wonder how it came about at all 
That I forgot all learning and all sense 
And fell a-laughing and grew musical, 
Loving you gaily, with no recompense. 

[72] 



"Tut! Let love vanish?" Faith, I will, my 

dear. 
Let this love vanish, and with little care. 
In that august apocalyptic year 
When earth and ocean vanish into air. 

" Tut! Let love vanish! " said I? Faith, I 

will 
When stars are ashes and the suns stand still. 

Ill 

I have no riches. I have never had 

Great store of gems — bright, gay and glittering 

glass. 
I cannot give you jewels, dear, nor spread 
Silver and gold before you as you pass. 
I have no domain neither on the earth. 
I own no meadows, and can never pick 
Rich buttercups and daisies for your mirth, 
Bluebells and pinks, and violets clustered thick. 
Nay, I can only give, as I have done. 
In lieu of gold and silver and rare gem. 
Stray wisps of dream and fancy quaintly spun 
To weave and broider in your garment's hem. 
In lieu of roses, on your brow I set 
Flowers of dream in a vague coronet. 

IV 

Longtime before the world grew old and grey. 
Wearied with wars and wistful for its end, 

[73] 



There was a man in lordly Nineveh 
Sang sonnets of a lady. Swift as wind 
His like have followed him in Babylon, 
Tall Troy and Rome, Memphis and Ispahan, 
A pack of poets piping one by one 
Sonnets of ladies, since the world began. 
A million buried who sang songs onetime 
Crowd round me eager and importune me 
To set your beauty in enamell'd rhyme. 
Patterned with care and carven cunningly. — 

The world is old, but merry. They are dead. 

Yet Love lives ever, and I sing instead. 



And thus I build a house of beauty, sweet, 
A house of loveliness for you alone. 
Setting my words like marble, trim and neat, 
My mortar, music, binding stone to stone. 
I build it firmly that it may endure 
Somewhile beyond us, if the gods be good. 
That you may stand most queenly and secure 
Therein forever, as you surely should. 
When lean Oblivion in aftertimes 
Shall come to call you to his kingdom, dear. 
Then shall you stand in these embattled rhymes 
Safe from his onslaughts for a thousand year. — 
The gods are laughing. Well they know that I 
And my mad sonnets and yourself shall die. 

[74] 



VI 

Nay, these trim rhymes shall not live overlong 
Nor make men wonder after I am dead. 
I cannot thunder such a sturdy song 
As I have whimsied in my giddy head. 
I say, " This shall not perish! " and I pen 
Some prattle neat and prim of thee and me. 
Better mayhap than some by better men. 
Yet empty still and wrought too curiously. 
Sure, the queer tinkling of these little words 
Shall sound no longer ere Time tyrant kills 
Than the faint sheep-bells of the mountain herds 
Tinkling one moment in the eternal hills. 
Yet frail, uncomely children that they are 
I pray you take them : be their comforter. 

VII 

Saint Francis of Assisi — may he rest 

Quiet eternal in his holy grave — 

Said: " In the wonders of the east and west, 

The mellow moonlight, and the restless wave 

Of the salt ocean, and the midnight sky. 

The winds of morning and the fallow sod, 

I see as in a dream eternally 

The changing shadow of Almighty God." 

The world to me is but a mighty dream 

Wherein the picture of your beauty gleams and 

dies: 
I find yourself reflected even with Him 

[75] 



In earth, air, water, and the winds and skies. 
Godwot, Saint Francis was a holy friar, 
And la blasphemer, — but yet no liar. 

VIII 

That pearl that Cleopatra wantonly 
Dissolved in wine and drank for her delight : 
Those gems the mad Doge threw into the sea 
Twinkling against the sunset on a summer's night: 
Those gems, were lost by a lone traveller 
Crossing the desert to the prophet's tomb : 
All lost bright trinkets, dear, that ever were 
Or ever shall be till the shock of doom : 
These will I gather from the world of dreams 
— Who find no gems nor jewels otherwhere — 
And lock them with their weird unearthly gleams 
Cunningly in a casket made of air 

Clasped with a wisp of music strange and sweet. 
And lay them (all my riches) at your feet. 

IX 

When men come by me with complaining hearts, 
" Life is so little worth, so little worth. 
Thinner than moonshine — " suddenly there starts 
A storm within me of great joy and mirth. 
Life is so little worth then, dear? Nay, nay ! 
I cry them silence. Have the fools forsworn 
The winds and flowers and the sunlit day, 
Moonlight and starlight, and the flush of morn? 

[76] 



I shall not join their melancholy throng 
Now nor forever, sweet, I who have had 
Gifts rare and wonderful to make me glad, 
Sunrise and sunset, reverie and song 

The plains, the seas, the rainfall and the dew, 
The midnight sky, the mountain heights — and 
you. 



[77] 



THE LASS OF GALILEE 

He often said my lips were sweet. He said 

There was no peace to be had in the world 

Like that to be had of a woman. 

He said 

Wonderful beautiful things about my eyes. 

And I laughed like a child, believing him, 

Because he was always so tender. 

I forgot my mother and father and all the world, 

Believing him, because he was always so wist- 
ful. . . . 

He was no money-maker. He was no good car- 
pienter. 

But I loved him. 



He was always so wistful and silent. 
He talked but little. When he spoke 
His words were soft like w^hispering. 
There was music in them like that of leaves, 
Tender and sad. 
He said that he loved me. 

My heart had become a dream about little chil- 
dren. 
He was no good carpenter. 
Yet he might have earned money one day. 
My heart had become a dream 
Tremulous with the patter of little feet 

[78] 



And whisper of children. . . . 
He was always so wistful and silent. 

There was always a sadness in his eyes 

When he kissed me, a very great sadness. 

I think he was never altogether happy with me : 

Yet he said that he loved me. . . . 

He was so wistful. 

He read in great books 

And talked of things I could not understand. 

There was always a sadness in his eyes 

That I could find no reason for. 

Sometimes it seemed that he could not kiss me 

enough. 
He said there was no peace in the world 
Like that to be had of a woman. 
Yet still he was sad. 
When I smiled, he smiled too — 
But it was so wistful. 

When I laughed with the happiness of loving him. 
He smiled. 

But it made him seem so much older than I. 
He said I was like a little bird 
That laughed without knowing the reason. . . . 
He seemed so old, 
So much older than I. 
But he said my lips were warm. 
He loved wet kisses. . . . 

[79l 



I think he had known few women. 

But when he told me that he had known none 

I knew that he Hed. 

All men are one. . . . 

He read in great books. 

I was afraid even in those days 

He would forget me. 

He was too sad to remember a woman. 

I wept at nights then 

With thinking of it. . . . 

Yet he said that he loved me. 

Once he smiled. 

He said the little flowers with white petals 

Smiled all day, 

And was he less than a flower? 

But he was sad again in no time. 

Mostly w^hen he smiled, 

I felt like weeping. . . . 

He needed taking care of. 

He was so wistful and helpless. 

He was no good carpenter. 

One evening he came and sat with me a long time 
And said nothing. 

That night he was more tender than my mother. 
Next morning they came to me and said: 

[80] 



'' He Is gone. In the direction of Samaria. 

Preaching his dreams." 

I never saw him again. . . . 

They say he would let no one mention my 
name. . . . 

Now always I sit with my mother and spin. 
The young men of Nazareth come often 
Trying to talk with me. 
They are good carpenters. 
They come always trying to talk. 
But they are nothing to me. . . . 

Folk say he would let no one mention my 
name. ... 

He wanted to save the world, 

Preaching his dreams. 

He did not save it. 

Men here where he lived are evil still. 

The men on the other side of the mountains are 

evil as ever. 
There is no good in the world. 
He did not save it. . . . 

He said that he loved me. 

My heart had become a dream about little chil- 
dren. 
My heart had become a dream 

[8i] 



Tremulous with the patter of little feet 
And whisper of children. ... 

Now always I sit with my mother and spin. 
They told me five years ago 
He was crucified in Jerusalem. 



[82] 



,v/ - 



ENVOY 

Prince, all the scholarly men that write 
In the daytime, and drink by night. 
Come to the same end, sometime die : 

Even you, even I. 
Along that shadowy way have gone 
Robert Browning and Frank Villon, 
Robert Browning that was so strong, 
Frangois, night-bird, maker of song — 
For Death he taketh them all along. 



[83] 



FINIS 

I have fought no mighty fight ; 

I have not affronted Fate; 
I have kept no fire alight 

Pale within no temple-gate. 

I have not done anything 
That is noble, brave or true; 

Nay, I cannot even sing 
Rondels beautiful or new. 

I have not been worth my bread. 

Yet thus much I beg in fee, 
When I lie among the dead 

Folk may murmur this o' me: 

" Here lies one within the tomb — 
Pencil stilled and parchment furled 

Who was somewhat overcome 
By the beauty of the world." 



THE END 



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UBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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